And Slowly Goes the Night
by Chimaya
Summary: A missing scene for The Lotus Eater. Scotty anguishes over the possible consequences of the antidote he's given Kelly. Something different - but the same.


Still the same.

The view beyond the terrace doors hadn't changed; there was just the same darkness, the faint outline of the stonewall, and the plants waving frantically in the wind. Nothing beyond that, except what Scotty could see in his mind's eye – that sheer drop to the rocks and the Aegean below. And if Kelly hadn't turned from these doors, but instead raced out onto that slick terrace and vaulted over that wall, dropped down and down into that yawning darkness, dashing his body against the night…

_No, didn't happen,_ he firmly told himself, but the image wouldn't completely disappear from the space behind his closed eyes. He dropped his throbbing forehead to the glass pane, felt the thrum of dancing wind on the other side, wished suddenly for daylight and calm. Logically, of course, there was no physical way to chase time, no way to make it go any faster. But his logic had slipped a little in the past couple of days. Why couldn't things just change right now, and for the better?

Time, this torpid, vexatious wait – it was eating at his mind, and his heart…

_Hours_, the scientist at the Athens lab had said of the antidote. _It contains a neutralizing agent, something to combat the effects of the drug…but it takes time to work._ He'd said plenty of other things, too, hemming and hawing about handing it over while spilling words like "best guess," and "instability factor," and the all encompassing "efficacy." Scotty had just kept nodding and holding out his hand, trying not to tell the guy where he could put all his warnings. Then there'd been the final "coma…or complete breakdown." And a pause, as if that would change things – it didn't. So the scientist had thrown up his hands, and Scotty had silently jammed the little vial with its matching syringe into his pocket and hurried out. It was only when he was on his way to the lodge house that he began to dread the moment he'd have to use it. Reason told him there was no other way to bring Kelly around. But reason kept bumping into frustration and worry. They'd had Kelly in their grip for ten days and Scotty had seen the damage that had done. He had to get Kelly away, and quickly. He hadn't _wanted_ to do this. But he _knew_ he had to – and there within him sat the whole warring mess.

He'd hesitated for one long and delicate moment before making that injection, wanting Kelly to just suddenly sit up and be all right. But Kelly didn't wake up, and Sorge was waiting out there in the bay, so he'd shoved his doubt aside and did it. As it was, Kelly was already well caught in the confusing grip of that drug-laced ouzo. It had been so hard watching a man so sure-minded, so secure in step, talking nonsense as he crawled across the floor, then bumping to a halt and uttering those raw, honest words. All Scotty could offer in return was his protective grasp, an antidote of questionable result, and now this tortured vigil; trying to shove the time forward like a balky toddler resisting a nap.

Not exactly a quick or brilliant rescue. But it was all he had. And at least he _had_ Kelly, the physical piece of him, anyway. Two days ago he didn't even have that much_. Fifty percent improvement_, he thought to himself, turning back to face the room. _Just keep the percentage marker climbing – improve the odds…_

Automatically his gaze went to his partner, but there was no change. Kelly was still sprawled haphazardly across the too short, ugly green loveseat, long legs and bare feet hanging over the edge, and one arm dangling low. His chin had fallen onto his chest, which hardly seemed to rise and fall. Scotty took a few breaths of his own, trying to breathe for him while settling his own suddenly thumping heartbeat. His partner, the man he cared most in the world about, and he might never...

_No._ He had Kelly. No one else was going to harm him any further_. I promise you that, Jack,_ he silently vowed, making his way now to Kelly's side. He'd already taken care of that housekeeper Melina, secured this room, kept young Irena out of the way. He'd even built up the fire in the fireplace to keep Kelly warm while waiting for the antidote to work.

He had Kelly. That was enough – for now.

There was no room to edge onto the loveseat so he knelt on the floor instead, swept both his gaze and his hands over Kelly in slow and careful examination, registering every small change in the man he already knew so well. There was the slight furrow to Kelly's brow, and the wrinkled skin at the corners of his eyes, as if he were squinting. The downward cast of his lips. The noticeably warm cheek, rough with emerging stubble, and the damp forehead. _Side effects_ slid back into Scotty's mind – pain, nausea, cramping, trouble swallowing, difficulty breathing – he'd memorized them so that he'd recognize them, and treat them if they occurred.

He reached for the hanging arm, found some room for it on the sliver of available cushion. There was just the tiniest purpled dot marking the injection site, perfectly centered in the strong vein running inside Kelly's right elbow. He touched it. Kelly might not even notice – there didn't seem to be any swelling or redness at the site. Good – that was good. Now if he only knew whether the antidote was working or not. Reflexively he checked his watch, then sighed at the waste of energy. It hadn't been nearly long enough. _No more of that_, he scolded himself. This fretting wasn't helping.

He turned his attention back onto his task and eased his hand over to Kelly's chest, only slightly reassured by the steady heartbeat under his palm. Kelly breathed softly – it was too quiet, really – but it was fairly even. The pulse at his neck was solid, if a little slow, and his overall color was good, despite the lurid green color of the fabric under him. Scotty ran light fingers back over his cheek, stroking softly, trying to ease that frown – had it deepened? Was he in pain? Quickly Scotty checked but there were no tremors or contractions in the arm or calf muscles, no abdomen rigidity. Maybe it was his position – he looked downright uncomfortable, canted as he was across this demented sized piece of furniture. Who'd make something this stunted, anyway? He'd be all cramped up when he woke up---

If he woke up…

_When_ he woke up. It was just going to take time; that's what the lab guy said.

Time…

Time, with its awful drag …Time, his enemy and their triumph…Time, squeezing him, forcing his decision…

Time, time time---

"Let's get you comfortable," he said out loud, chasing back the closeness of the room that was pressing in on him. It felt good to hear his voice and not the bubbling thoughts in his head. Kelly wasn't likely to respond; he hadn't spoken since his collapse, and that last conversation hadn't really been one at all. In truth, Scotty hadn't really talked _with_ Kelly for at least ten days – and he'd missed that connection – badly. Yet if anyone asked he'd bet that Kelly could somehow hear him; that even in no apparent consciousness Kelly could not refuse his own partner's voice. "If you're going to have a fat head in the morning," he continued, "then there's no need to add any stiff muscles on top of that." He ran a light hands back over Kelly. Softly he continued, "What you need is a real bed…" A good mattress and a firm pillow, not this lousy substitute. But there'd been no time to search the house and re-secure rooms. And now that Kelly was out…

He put his arms around Kelly and drew him up, readily welcoming the warmth and weight against his chest, yet detecting with dismay and concern the scent of thick, drugged exhaustion emanating from skin and hair, and a fresh loss of muscle from too much drink and too little food. He faintly hoped the jostling, however careful, would rouse Kelly, give some idea as to how his partner was doing, even if all Kel could manage was something half-witted to say. Or maybe he'd come to and heave, and that would be all right, too. But Kelly remained limp against him. "Time to get you back into shape, Duke," Scotty declared, edging one hip onto the loveseat to stabilize his grasp. "And you'll thank me for it later." He didn't like the new softness he felt, hadn't noticed it when Kelly first dropped into his arms. There were some pounds to lose and some strength to regain. A new workout regimen, stateside. They deserved a little American soil at this point.

"You okay, Jack?" he asked now, thrusting the heavy head onto his shoulder and holding it. With the ease of long practice he felt for the often-troublesome trapezius muscle, found it, and worked for a moment at the rising tightness. "Hang on," he said softly to that face breathing warmth onto his neck. He reached up to wipe at the damp sheen on Kel's cheek, then smoothened some mussed hair over the ear. "I'm just going to fix this for you …" He yanked the back sofa cushion out of position and thumped it down into something resembling a pillow. "Just a sec… you okay? I've got you…" He reached back up, got the other arm around Kelly's shoulders to ease him down –

And held on.

He couldn't let go – not yet, because he was suddenly feeling haunted, and holding Kelly helped stave off some of the black thoughts that threatened to overtake him. And because he realized just how vulnerable Kelly was right now, how much he needed a partner that could protect him, not sit around floundering in his own emotions.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, unable to keep it from spilling out. Sorry for administering that antidote, sorry for letting Sorge get that close, too close. Sorry for not being here, for not knowing sooner. Sorry for this rotten drag of time. His grasp tightened, solid and protective.

He had Kelly, and he wouldn't let anything else harm him…

He wasn't sure how long he sat holding Kelly, just slowly realized that his arms were getting tired and his back was aching, and that he was sweating where Kelly's body was pressed against his. He shifted, pulling Kelly back up from where he had slumped down across his chest. Quickly his gaze swept the room, seeking signs of change, but thankfully, there were none.

Was that something different, a slight intake of breath…?

"Kel?" he asked anxiously. Slowly he backed off of the loveseat and eased Kelly down onto the makeshift pillow he'd made – how long ago now? "Kel, can you hear me?" He brushed back a fringe of hair and laid the back of his fingers on Kelly's forehead, then touched a cheek, but Kelly didn't react. The earlier pained look on his face seemed to have eased though, and he looked – better. More alive better. Carefully Scotty folded Kelly's long legs onto what little cushion seat he had to work with. He really hated this furniture – it was the ugliest green he'd ever seen. Next he pulled Kelly's arms in, smoothed the tee shirt where it had ridden up on his ribcage. Yes, a better diet – and exercise. All under his watchful gaze, like always.

It was too warm in here – the wood he'd added to the hearth earlier had only overheated the room. Scotty stood and shrugged out of his suit jacket, then folded it and laid it on the hearth. He loosened the top button of his shirt, eased the knot of his tie. That done, he flung himself down onto the other hideous love seat, this one with brassy gold cushions, leaned back and put his legs up – they hung over, just like Kelly's. This furniture was made for midgets, had to be.

Something dug into the small of his back. He sat back up and ruefully withdrew the gun stashed there; he'd forgotten he was even carrying it. His gaze went to Kelly, then back to the weapon. This gun – and the very real bullets loaded in it – and Kelly. He needed a plan, some kind of safety plan to make sure…

John Wayne.

That was it – perfect, so stunningly perfect that he almost laughed out loud. He lowered the gun and reached for the clip. Suddenly it didn't matter what the Athens scientist had said, or how long it would take. Time would properly finish passing in this too warm, too quiet room of warped furniture, and that was that. When Kelly woke up – _when_…

John Wayne – perfect.


End file.
